optare mortem
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Severus remembers Lily with his last breaths.


**optare mortem**

**I.**

I had resigned myself to dying with regret, and being chained to the earth by those regrets. But when I saw those eyes, I felt a breath of hope had been granted to me.

It's more than I deserve. I know this, but still I reach for it with both hands. I reach for _him_, knowing that I am reaching for a boy I'd wronged for my own hatred – but I can see it in those eyes: frightened, worried, but not hating. He really does have his mother's eyes. I know that; I'd known that – but I hadn't wanted to believe it until this day. Because that meant accepting something I hadn't been willing to accept.

It seems like such an insignificant thing now. Some of it. The way we'd scratched each other with barbs dripping with a stinging poison. The way we'd shoved each other to opposite poles. The way I'd lost the only true friend I'd ever had because of how that poison had burnt and bubbled within my veins.

That's important. _Lily_ is important, and suddenly, I want Harry to know that too. I want him to know that, more than I want to leave my mission unfulfilled. I'd almost done that too: died without passing along the message entrusted Albus had entrusted to me. And even now, now that those emerald eyes and their owner are so close, other memories with those eyes burn to the forefront of my mind.

But I'm running out of time, and opportunity. My wand is in its holster, out of reach, but for this I think I can manage without the conduit. There is too little time…and it is too important. I had wasted enough, and I'm setting things up to waste even more, but still – it is important to me, important that Harry can see his mother from my eyes, see how beautiful she really was. It's more important than the childish desire I'd clung to for six years: to show him the true face behind his father's heroic mask.

I couldn't hate him anymore; hatred seemed like such a pointless thing to waste my final moments with. Love seems like a far better thing. Far better…

I push my memories into tangible form, push them towards him. There are whispers, rustling like papers being shuffled in search, and then I feel those memories pulled away, leaving only an echo behind.

My mind feels empty now that that's done, and yet whole. I let go of three burdens with that act: my duty, my guilt and my love. Only their dying resonances remain, slipping into empty nooks and crevices. I let it spread, let the stray threads that swam convolute into one face, one gaze.

That is the last thing I wanted to see: that gaze. I want it. 'Look at me,' I rasp, pushing myself up with what little strength that remained.

He does; he looks at me, and in those eyes I see Lily's worried gaze looking at me as well, from the more innocent past.

**.**

I first saw Lily when I fled my house in a mix of anger and fear. My parents had been arguing again; at that time, all they did was argue. I was scared because I was young and defenceless and both my parents were fierce in their own rights; I'd feared for myself, and for them. And I was angry because of their fighting, because of how it disrupted everything: the family, the neighbours… When they were mad at each other, I couldn't talk to them. That didn't seem right; they were my parents. They couldn't just shut me out of their lives.

So I left for a bit. I walked around, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk before losing it halfway. I glared sourly at those who stifled giggles at the sight of me. _Let them laugh,_ I thought, watching how their ugly faces grew even uglier with the little curls of lip, how their eyes looked dry and bland as they turned to each other, their giggles turning into whispers indistinct. How their hair hung like limp rags as they tossed their heads, as though I was an ant worth nothing of their time,

But then I noticed a girl poking her companion, scowling at her. I noticed how her hair wasn't dull and brown but a vibrant red, catching the sun's rays. I noticed how her eyes, a bright green unlike anything I'd seen before. I noticed how her mouth was taut, how the upward tilt on her companion's face was absent from hers.

She and her companion disappeared, and I disappeared as well. Drifted off, wandered to the park with its single swing and sat there for a bit, swinging thoughtlessly. Then I wandered around the neighbourhood some more, until I could walk past my house without hearing anything from it, by which point I could be sure they were done.

I'd pushed those other girls out of my mind by then. But I remembered the one with the burning red hair and emerald eyes that hadn't laughed at me with the rest.

**.**

The next time I saw her was also the first time I learnt her name.

I wasn't too friendly with the other neighbourhood kids. I didn't know them, and I didn't care to know them either. It wasn't too much of a surprise when I came up short trying to put a name to that girl's face.

But when I saw her again, I also saw an opportunity. Unfortunately, she wasn't alone. The brunette she'd been scolding last time was also there. And the pair of them were playing on the swings.

The red-haired girl was swinging high, laughing as the wind grabbed at her hair and yanked it back. Even from a distance, the gems that were her eyes were sparkling, teasing the sun. The brunette though was like an annoying fly in the scene. She buzzed around like a distracting, whining with her piercing voice.

And it was with that voice that I first heard Lily's name.

'Lily! Lily! Mum'll be mad! You're not supposed to swing that high! You know you're not! Lily!'

'Don't worry so much, Tuney,' Lily yelled back merrily. Nor did she seem worried herself; she simply swung harder, fearless as the swing creaked stayed, for longer, away.

Then she was suddenly off the swing, jumping gracefully through the air, and the brunette, Tuney, screamed. I just watched; somehow, the image of her flying through the air, air whipping her back like the misty tail of a Pegasus, seemed to suit those bright eyes, and the image I'd made from them.

Later, I realised I was creating a Goddess out of a woman, but even after that knowledge had imparted itself to me, I didn't change those first images I had of her. They were precious: imprinted.

In that scene of the past, Lily landed gracefully like a cat, the grin still on her face. This time, it was the other girl scowling at her, almost a head taller and with arms on her hips like a scolding mother. I didn't think of my mother then, of how she'd said nothing to my neighbourhood roaming. I was thinking about the red-haired Lily, and how the other girl was ruining my scene with her.

Lily was smiling at the other girl, showing she was fine. 'And see?' she said, picking up a flower she'd crushed while landing and cupping it within her palms. I was surprised when she opened them again; her companion looked both frightened and awed.

'Don't do that!' Tuney shrieked. 'That's – you shouldn't be –'

'There's nothing wrong with it,' replied Lily, looking a little sad, though she dropped the newly bloomed flower. That didn't stop the other though; she was still saying something I couldn't quite hear.

And, unluckily, she happened to look up mid-rant and spotted me. She shrieked again. 'You're that boy.'

Lily's smile dimmed a bit further, though she didn't look nearly as annoyed as her companion. 'Why were you hiding there?' she asked, curious.

'I wasn't,' I muttered to myself, a little embarrassed as I brushed grass and leaves from my shorts.

The other girl sniffed at me. 'You're that _boy_,' she said, saying the last word as if it was a disease. I was pleased to see Lily shoot her a reprimanding look; I wasn't too happy the other girl completely ignored it though. 'The one from Spinners End.'

Lily's mouth formed an 'o' as "Spinners End" pulled up the urban tales. It looked as though she knew what went on in our house as much as the rest of the neighbourhood did. She didn't say anything though, not like Tuney who muttered something about bad company and dragged the other girl away.

I thought I saw Lily turn, her emerald eyes showing a deeply apologetic look. But I couldn't know whether she really had or it was another mental addition to my memories of her. But I do know she left without much of a fuss…and why would she? She barely knew me that time: just as the boy from _that_ house, from Spinner's End.

But I knew she was special, and I wanted her to know something different, something _more_.


End file.
